Chapter 12
Six months later
It had been raining for the last two weeks and there was nothing to let presume that it was going to let. Jack sat in the window seat of the drawing room. He never really used that room, not since his wife and children had died, but he'd woken up with a strange feeling and had felt compelled to go sit in his old spot. Maybe it had been a dream. Or maybe it was Ianto's disappearance that had reminded him of his old loss. The young man had been showing up less and less, appearing more confused each time, as if his essence was leaving the stone. Jack had tried everything he could think of: electricity, nuclear power, the energy of a dying star... He'd even sought the doctor. But his calls remained unanswered and his quest for a way to bring back Ianto remained unfulfilled. it would soon be two weeks since he'd seen him and he feared that he may never see him again.
His staff steered clear of him but he knew that he scared them. He rarely ate and had lost a lot of weight. He walked about the house, a living specter, the shadow of a man. He'd gone through the whole range of emotions, sometimes several times in the same day. He couldn't understand why he was so obsessed with Ianto. He'd never felt loss so poignantly. He'd always been able to move on relatively quickly. This was a first.
His head jerked down and he jumped. He must have fallen asleep. He looked outside. Night was falling. The rain had stopped, leaving the sky painted in purple and crimson. His eyes focused on the window pane and he saw Ianto's reflection. He forced himself not to turn around, for fear of scaring him away.
"You're back."
The man ignored him. He lifted his chin, pointing at something. Jack scrutinized his garden. In the fading light, he spotted John Hart's silhouette.
Jack stared at his old companion. He stood by the fireplace, warming himself. The flame danced, projecting uneven light on his military jacket which hung loose. His bony fingers shook as he extended his hands towards the warmth. Jack could barely recognize the face he once knew. John's skin was taut on his prominent cheekbones and his lips were parched and cracked. The strangest things yet was that John hadn't said a word yet and had refused alcohol. Jack sat, patiently. To be completely honest, he hadn't given much thought to the man in the last six months. He had been too engrossed in his quest for a catalyst to even pause and wonder where his companion had gone to.
"I see you've been busy, too."
Unlike his body, John's voice hadn't wasted away. It was a strong and clear as it had always been. Jack nodded.
"If you're still here it probably means that you're still searching."
John turned around. Even in the darkness of the room, Jack could see the circles under his sunken eyes.
"I've found it."
Jack frowned, his head cocked to the right.
"Found what?" he asked.
John sighed, managing to look even more tired and forlorn.
"The catalyst. I've found it."